Bygone Truths
by Raventear
Summary: Harry Potter, a 37-year-old high school History teacher, leads a peaceful life in the suburbs until a strange book falls to his possession, and for the life of him he cannot let it go off his hands. This is not an AU, neither a crossover. Post-Hogwarts Harry Potter universe.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello, this is a Harry Potter universe short-fic. It is complete and there is a total of 7 chapters in this story. I will be uploading two chapters every week, and the final one will stand alone. I was aiming for dark and mysterious in this story, and I really hope you will enjoy reading it. As mentioned in the description, this is neither an AU, nor a crossover. It is Post-Hogwarts, in real time 2017.

P.S. Many thanks to Janeinabottle for helping me edit this story! And to J.K. Rowling for giving us Harry Potter, those wonderful characters and that magical world!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 1**

Harry Potter led a quiet and peaceful life in the suburbs of Boston, MA. He was a 37-year-old History teacher in a local High School. Days went by smoothly. Every day, Harry Potter would wake up, get dressed, eat breakfast with his wife Martha and their son James, and he would bid them farewell with a peck on the cheek before heading off to school. At nights, the family would gather around the t.v. to watch their favourite show and silently eat dinner.

Harry was a man of habit, he liked the routine, he felt safe. He never thought of straining out of his everyday life schedule unless it was an absolute necessity, and usually it was because other people would mess up with his routine. A very drunk neighbour friend that needed consolation, which would lead Harry to be up past his usual bedtime, or maybe an unruly student that would need some time in detention and that would lead Harry to stay longer than his usual teaching hours, and so on.

But even those hiccups in his daily routine, they were a habit of their own. And as much as Harry detested them, he had managed to implement them in his day to day life, as in schedule for them to happen.

This day though, was a particularly peculiar one. These disturbances in his regular schedule seemed to happen all at once. At first the previous night, Robert, the usual neighbour friend that would get drunk and come pester Harry, did so up until 3am in the morning hours. Apparently, Robert had fought with his wife, one of the many fights, and she had left the house. Robert couldn't stay alone in the house, so with a bottle of whiskey he had moved to the Potter residence, where after 7 hours of explaining the fight with his wife thoroughly, he fell asleep on Harry's couch.

As a result, Harry woke up an hour late for work, something that had never happened before. In all his career life. Of course, waking up late meant that there would be no breakfast with the family as Martha was already at work and their son at school. So, Harry grumpily got dressed and left the house with a piece of toast in hand, leaving Robert on the couch snoring.

At the later hour Harry left the house, the small suburb town was already up and buzzing, which led him to be even more late at work due to the unexpected traffic. Harry reached the school two hours later than normal. He parked his car and with a hang head he walked straight to the headmaster's office to explain his tardiness. Of course, the headmaster didn't even scold, as this was the first time Harry came at school late.

Harry felt disoriented and defeated all day. To add to that, a ruckus between two students before Harry's class was about to start sent him over the edge. As he caught the two teenagers battling like wild cats on the floor, Harry dropped his briefcase on the ground hard and screamed from the top of his lungs. That effectively ended the ruckus but it also drew attention from nearby classrooms, teachers and students, so Harry found himself for a second time this day to the Headmaster's office.

Seeing the slight tremble in Harry's hands and voice, the Headmaster decided to let him take the day off. Something that didn't sit well with Harry at all. He tried to protest that he was fine and that he would like to go on with the rest of his day but the Headmaster wouldn't have it. The slight shriek in Harry's voice didn't help his case either.

So, he left the school emotionally exhausted and got into his car to return home. On the way, back Harry was cursing his bad luck under his breath. He blamed Robert for all the mishaps of this day. Of course, it was all Robert's fault, if he hadn't kept Harry up until the early hours he wouldn't have slept in. He wouldn't have to face traffic on the way to the school, not to mention that he would have eaten breakfast with his family. He might have had to deal with the ruckus at school, but that would be only one incident and Harry would have been able to cope with that one.

He was so lost in his train of thought of blaming and cursing Robert that Harry failed to notice the red light ahead of him, and as if bad luck wanted it today, he crashed into the car that was halted in front of him. His knuckles turned white from grabbing the wheel too tight and a silver veil fell in front of him.

Harry found himself walking down the street, hands in his pocket, head low. It was already dusk. Images of two policemen asking him questions flashed in his mind, his car being towed, a woman flailing her hands and shrieking to him "Are you blind?! What's wrong with you!?". But the images were all blurry and distant. He slowly dragged his feel on the sidewalk, he wasn't even sure if this was the right way for him home.

Sighing heavily, he stopped and looked around effortlessly trying to identify his surroundings and gain his composure. At that time, the aroma of freshly blended coffee hit his nostrils. Scanning around he noticed a small coffee shop dimly lit at the end of the road. Deciding to throw caution to the wind, he made his way towards the coffee shop and walked inside. Afterall how much can this day go any further worse.

The small coffee shop was very cosy and beautiful, like it was taken out from a Victorian English novel. Several floral-patterned, grandma-looking armchairs with tiny, wooden coffee tables beside them filled the room. At the entrance to the left, the barista was busy making hot coffee for the customers behind the bar. At the far back of the shop there was a large wooden bookcase, sporting several books and board games. The place smelled of fresh coffee and hot chocolate and all the residents of the shop seemed to be peacefully engaged in their reading and sipping of their beverages.

Without much thought Harry ordered a Cappuccino Latte and moved to the back towards the bookcase. After a brief scan at the titles, his eyes fell on a rather withered, hardcover, crimson book. He absent-mindedly run his fingers through the golden letters on the back, "The boy who lived by Tom Marvolo Riddle".


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

 _'Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em._

 _You never know what fate, or chance may have in store for you. You may be just an orphan child, forced to live with a family you didn't choose, abused, and terrorized by your "foster" family… or you may be an heir of a very wealthy and very notable family. It matters not. If the Fates have weaved a very intricate web, your destiny will come to you sooner or later. '_

"Your coffee, sir." The waiter said, startling Harry.

"Oh, thank you." With a curt nod and a faint smile, Harry settled in the nearest armchair. He didn't realise when he had picked up the book and started browsing through the first lines.

"First time in our shop, sir?" The waiter asked, while serving the cup of coffee in the table in front of Harry.

"Yes, I was passing by and it seemed very cosy…. thought I'd come inside for a cup." Harry fumbled with his words.

The waiter gave him a small smile and nodded. "That explains why, you brought your own book, sir. We have a wide range of English literature!" He exclaimed.

Harry squinted his brow, "But, I…"

"Oh, excuse me!" The waiter apologised as another customer from the other corner motioned for him.

Harry remained in his seat, mouth agape. He eyed the book suspiciously. He turned to examine the first and last page, seeking evidence as to whom this book could belong to. Other than the title, and author's name in the book's back, it looked nondescript. No other author's notes, or editor's name, or printing date, nothing. The book seemed to perfectly match the author's name, a Riddle! Harry inwardly chuckled at his pun.

He opened it again, and resumed reading. It was a strange piece of literature, if it could even be classified as literature. The style of writing resembled more of a diary or just doodling at some points, and it contained many peculiar words. Yet, Harry seemed to find it extremely interesting, he was completely absorbed in the book until his phone vibrated in his pocket, startling him.

"Hello?"

"Harry! Are you alright? Where have you been? Do you know what time is it?" His wife's frantic voice of the phone brought Harry back to reality. He raised his eyes to the clock above the shop's bar and inwardly smacked himself on the forehead.

"Sorry honey, I had a long and very unsettling day. I am alright, actually… I'm on my way home. I'll see you in a bit and explain everything." He heard his wife mumble and " _ok, see you home"_ before he turned off the phone.

He took the last sip from his coffee and rose from the chair. He fumbled with the book in his hands, debating of whether to take it with him or tell the waiter he founded in the shop's bookcase. It didn't seem right for him to just take the book. Someone might have forgotten it there and they may come back to retrieve it. He felt his palms sweating. He eyed his surroundings anxiously to determine if someone is watching him. He kept chewing his bottom lip and tapping his right foot impatiently.

One, two, three…

Harry hurriedly turned and stuffed the book in his briefcase. Quickly he reached the bar, paid for his coffee and mumbled a strained "thank you" to the barista. Briefcase tightly clasped in his arms, he exited the coffee shop in a hurry and with a brisk trot he walked to the direction of his home. As he walked, he kept looking over his shoulder to make sure no-one was following him to confront him about his grand-theft-book.

As he reached his house front-gate, he gave a last glance around and entered closing the gate behind him.

"Harry! Are you alright dear?" his wife said to him, the moment he walked into the house.

"Oh, honey you won't believe the day I had," Harry said while running his hand through his hair.

He sat on the kitchen stool and started explaining to his wife all the weird incidents that happened to him today.

For a moment, he had forgotten about the book he found in the coffee shop, but when his wife asked him where he had been up until this hour, he glanced at his briefcase and scratched his head awkwardly. He opened the briefcase and removed the book from inside. He slowly slid towards his wife and started narrating how he ended at the coffee shop and found the book.

"So, you stole it?" His wife said with a glint in her eyes. "Harry Potter! I don't recognise you!"

Harry turned beat red from embarrassment. "But it didn't belong to the shop! The waiter said…"

"Calm down, honey. I am just teasing you. It is just so out-of-character for you." His wife smiled softly.

Harry gave a dry chuckle and rubbed the back of his head. "So, have you ever seen this book or know the author?" He asked his wife. She was an English literature teacher at a Middle school.

She shook her head. "Tom Marvolo Riddle", the name rolled of her tongue. "No honey, never heard of him. Maybe he self-printed the book, made one and only copy, and left it purposefully in the coffee shop's library for someone to find it! And then he may stalk the poor fool that took the book to read it and pester him for publishing money!" She said wide-eyed, leaning ominously over the kitchen counter towards Harry.

Harry fidgeted in his seat. "Don't be absurd, Martha! No-one does that!".

"Well, I made you squirm," she said with a smug smile as she leaned back into her seat and played with her nails.

Harry gave a grumpy snort and rose from his seat. He took the book from the kitchen counter and tucked it under his arm. He gave a final pout as an answer to his wife's smiling face, before moving over to the couch. He plopped himself down on it and opened the book.

"Ew, what the hell! Is that Robert's drool?"

"Probably!" His wife answered with mirth in her voice.

While muttering something under his breath, Harry scooted over to the other end of the couch and resumed reading.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

 _'Being an orphan doesn't come with privileges. Being an orphan in a foreign environment where your true past and lineage are hidden from you is even worse. Forced to live among muggles and slowly understanding you are different from them, it creates fear and resentment. Both from them because they see you possess power they do not understand, but from your own self as well, because you never really fit in their society and their norms. And such behaviour and self-awareness can easily create madness, as you are forced to withdraw into yourself, away from them, away from their society._

 _But then comes a day when someone tells you that you are not mad, or strange, or weird. You are just different. And the power you thought you possessed, before they made you feel ashamed of it and made it sound like it was all part of your freakish imagination, it is all real and true. And magic exists in this world. And suddenly, you are no longer this frail, little boy that was getting bullied and tormented by the other kids of your age. You are this gifted individual, with a strong past and a rich heritage._

 _And from being the child, in a society that rejected you and cast you out as a delinquent, you find yourself amongst people that expect a great deal from you. That expect you to carry the weight of the world in your shoulders, and proceed with a mission no-one else would dare to undertake. Clearly, that puts quite a lot of stress in a young boy's mind. But you have already dealt with hardships, that to most are unimaginable, so you cope. Though sometimes you exert yourself in effort to prove everyone's expectations right. '_

"Honey?" Harry called his wife from the couch, eyes still glued on his book.

"Yes?"

"What is a Muggle?" He asked and rose his head to look at his wife.

It was a warm Saturday morning; his wife was busying herself in the kitchen preparing lunch. She turned to look at her husband and raised an eyebrow. "Did any of your students called you that? It sounds like a teenager's invented bad word that can be used offensively while avoiding detention." She said and grinned mischievously.

Harry sighed heavily and withdrew his eyes from the book, he rested his arms on the couch's back and gazed at his wife. "First, my students don't call me names, they know better! Secondly, I found the word in this book."

"Of course, they know better, honey. You put that kid in detention for a month for calling you obnoxious! And the sad part is that the kid was right!" His wife said and chuckled with herself.

"Martha! Whose side are you on?!" Harry whined, but his wife kept laughing. "Anyway, look here it says… forced to live among muggles… blah blah". Harry rose from the couch and moved over to his wife to show her the book.

"I don't know honey, maybe the word muggle is English slang for homeless people. This book looks like fiction doodling to me, so don't take into consideration whatever your read in there."

"For an English literature teacher, you are very shallow in your interpretations sometimes!"

"You know, fiction isn't my cup of tea, Harry. Besides, not every person that picks up a pen and writes words in a paper is worthy of being called a writer. Hence my shallow interpretations." She said and continued to chop vegetables on the cutting board. "Besides, I think you are too engrossed in that book, since you brought it here. You kept reading the whole morning, you missed gym… If I thought this book was a good piece of…"

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, interrupting his wife. He glanced at the clock. He never missed gym. He never missed any appointment really. Not by choice. His eyes flickered between the clock and the book. He really did miss his gym because of the book.

He heard his wife's voice in the background asking him if he was alright. He merely breathed out a "mhm" before returning to his spot on the couch, book in hands.

A couple of days went by and Harry found himself completely emerged on the book. He would read during his breaks at work, at home before dinner, at bed before sleep. He even went past his usual sleep time to read one more page, as he told himself. His daily routine has taken a change also, he would miss or rather forget, standard appointments in his weekly schedule. Things in his life that he was used to do out of habit for many years. The strange fact was that he wasn't bothered by it, whereas a few days ago if such thing happened it would be cause for a nervous breakdown.

His wife seemed annoyed by this "chaos" that suddenly entered Harry's schedule. She used to tease him about his uptight schedule and the fact that he wanted everything to go as planned, but now that he broke out of this chain-planning his everyday life, he found she was always vexed by his actions. She would frequently come and snatch the book from his hands, and order him to go help their son with schoolwork, or some other thing that Harry used to do but now seemed to forget or not bother.

It was a Thursday evening and Harry was sitting in the living room's armchair beside the window, silently reading his book. His wife was browsing through a magazine on the couch, while their son was sprawled on the carpet in front of the tv busying himself with his homework. The lights from the window across the street withdrew his gaze from the book, and he spotted his neighbours peeking at him through the curtain.

"Filthy squib…" Harry muttered under his breath.

"What did you say?" His wife shot at him immediately. Harry turned to look at her and so did their son. "That was that a strange word from the book, wasn't it?" His wife was eyeing daggers at him. The magazine had fallen into her lap, and she had her arms crossed in front of her chest.

"What?" Harry asked puzzled.

"You muttered something under your breath, when you looked outside."

"What? Honey, no! I just grumbled because I caught Mrs. Figg spying on us through her curtains again!" Harry defended himself.

"No, you muttered something through clenched teeth, filthy sqshh… or something."

"I didn't..."

"Yes, you did! You always do that since you brought that piece of garbage in the house…"

"I did not!"

"You did, you even do it in your sleep! Mouthing some incoherent mumbo jumbo, you read!"

"I did not!" Harry almost shouted and rose from his seat. His wife had become really vexed with his book lately, and her irrational reactions annoyed him to the core.

"Dad, you did." Their son, said calmly.

"Huh?" Harry's anger subsided and turn to look at the book in his hands. He glanced at his wife, there was real ire swirling in her eyes. "Sorry, I didn't realise I said anything…" He apologised softly and went to the kitchen for a glass of water.

He rested his hands on the sink and exhaled heavily. He had found himself losing his temper quite often this days. He just wanted to relax and read his book at peace, but his wife was always trying to find something to keep him away from reading. What was so wrong with him reading a book! He heard footsteps approach him and warm hand rested on his shoulders.

"Honey…" his wife said softly.

"I'm sorry," he apologised again.

"I just don't know what you find in this book, you are so engrossed in it that you even forget to eat. From what you've told me about this book sounds like a total fiction crap…"

"I think it's real." Harry muttered.

His wife leaned against the counter. She touched Harry's chin with her index finger and turned his face towards her. "Wait, you are telling me you believe about the leprechauns and the hobgoblins this book refers to?"

Harry sighed, "It's about wizards," he said rather seriously. "Maybe some goblins, but yes I believe them to be true. Historically, it explains some weird stuff."

"Pray tell," his wife urged him.

"Some years ago, I was in the school's archive trying to find an old student's paper, the previous History teacher recommended it to me, as an example of what a young mind with keen intelligence and critique can produce… I didn't know the exact year that student attended our High School, so I've ended up searching through papers between 1998 and 2008…"

"And…?" His wife said impatiently.

"Anyway, I didn't find the paper I was looking for but I came across another paper of a student, that was trying to explain some weird incidents that happened in the UK between the years of 1995 and 1998...I remembered I had laughed at his explanations, that whatever happened during that period in UK was the work of a mysterious group of people with magical powers…"

His wife coughed and rolled her eyes, disrupting Harry's rumbling. "Honey, have you thought that this student may also be the author of that book? And that maybe his wild… imagination, to say it politely, didn't die out as he entered maturity?"

Harry pouted and looked at her angrily, his face stating wordlessly, that is not the case.

Understanding her husband's inability to see reason in her words, she asked. "What was the student's name?"

"It was not the same name as the author of the book." He said with conviction.

"He might have used an alias to write it, though."

Harry pressed his lips. He couldn't find anything to counter his wife's reasonable logic. "It's not the same person, I know it!" He said whining like a child.

His wife raised her hands in defeat, and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER 4**

 _He was floating, soaring through clouds. He could see the houses, the little lights from the streets that flickered in the darkness of the night. Everything seemed calm and serene. Then suddenly he felt like choking, a fire erupted within his chest and darkness engulfed him as he whizzed with immense speed towards the ground. Imminent impact…_

Harry jolted from his sleep, he sat in a straight sitting position on his bed heavily panting, cold sweat run from his temples. His heart hammered in his chest. At his right, the figure of his wife stirred.

"Water…" he mouthed at her incoherent sleepy question.

He rose from his bed and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He was still shaking from the vivid dream he had just experienced. He didn't know what to make of it. After a glass of water and when his breath evened, he decided to blame the Chinese food they had for dinner and went back upstairs to continue his sleep.

The next morning found Harry sporting a headache. He didn't mention the dream he had last night to his wife. Instead he ate breakfast with his family as per usual, bid them goodbye and left for his work.

"What are you reading?" Harry's colleague asked him while plopping himself on a chair next to him. It was lunch break, and Harry had retreated to the teacher's lounge to silently eat and read his book.

"A book," Harry said rather dismissively.

His colleague unfolded the paper for his sandwich, making extreme noise to Harry's opinion, and took a bite. "What's it about?" His colleague asked while munching.

Harry glanced at him and tried to control his facial expression from contorting with disgust. "About a wizard's plan to defeat his greatest enemy and save the world…" he said offhandedly.

"Oh, sounds like a kid's story… let me see…" The colleague said and made to grab the book from Harry.

As Harry saw his mustard-covered fingers nearing his book, he slapped his colleague's hand away and clutched the book tightly to his chest. "Keep your filthy hands off me. That is mine." Anger laced his voice.

"Ow, easy there Gollum! I just wanted to check the title so I can buy it for my kids…"

"It's not a kid's book, you, big oaf!" Harry squeaked.

"Oy, Potter, I was just trying to make conversation!" His colleague said and rose from the table, sandwich in hand. "Everybody already thinks you are loco man, but if you keep that shit up, people might think you have gone over the edge, du…"

His colleague never managed to finish the sentence, as Harry rose rapidly from his seat, knocking his chair back. Book clutched in his left hand, his right formed into a fist and connected with his colleague's face.

Several minutes later, Harry found himself in the Headmaster's office listening to the man rumbling about inappropriate and unprofessional behaviour. Harry was yawning inside his head, trying with so much effort not to let himself drift to sleep right in the middle of his reprimanding.

After nearly an hour of hearing the Headmaster's monologue, Harry was given permission to go, along with a week's leave of absence, to cool himself off. Without saying anything Harry left the office, took his briefcase and drove back home.

As he neared his house, Harry noticed two police cars stopped outside the yard across his house. He slowly drove his car in the driveway, and exited the vehicle. He spotted his wife leaning against the doorframe, a tissue in her hands.

"What's wrong?" He asked her when he was close enough.

She run and hugged him tight, he felt her tears wetting his neck. "Mrs. Figg... was murdered…" She said between sobs.

"What? How? When?!" He asked frantically while patting her back to soothe her.

"They don't...know, sniff, probably last night…" She raised her eyes to meet his. "I got a peek at her face Harry, the marks were...oh my god" She said and buried her face in her hands sobbing again.

"Was this a robbery, what did the police say?"

She shook her head and shrugged. "I don't know, Harry...I don't know...oh my god...we have a child."

"Hey honey, calm down. Let's see what the police says first…" Harry wrapped a hand over his wife's shoulders and led her inside.

It was an hour or two after dusk when the police left the premises of Mrs. Figg's house, securing the property with this yellow tape that read "Police", reminding everyone that something bad had happened here. He and his wife were questioned about the old woman's activities the day before and asked if they saw anything unusual.

From the brief conversations, he had with the policemen and the neighbours, Harry found out that Mrs. Figg's death was in the end a suicide. The police didn't find evidence of forced entry. No murder weapon was found, nothing was stolen, and generally there was no indication to suggest foul play. After a thorough examination the police had concluded that the old lady with the cats finally went cuckoo and ended herself by throwing bleach in her face and lighting herself with a match.

Apparently going mad was very common for old ladies with cats, Harry thought before closing the curtain of his window and retreating to his living room. But where are the cats…


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Many thanks to all of you who reviewed, fav'ed and followed!

Haraldr: I cannot confirm nor deny your suspicions for obvious reasons, but you will soon find out!

* * *

 **CHAPTER 5**

 _' "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches...born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies...and the Dark Lord with mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not...and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives...the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…" the prophecy read._

 _Finally, the pieces were falling into place, this elaborate act, this intriguing chess match, this clash of wills was close to the end. Only one piece was left on the board, needed to be removed. The Bishop, the Guardian. But the plan was already in motion. It would happen soon enough. Patience, just patience and vigilance." '_

 _ **\- Another demolition of a two-storied house, just outside Boston alerted the local authorities as they try to understand the reasons behind this destruction. Reports indicate that the building collapsed out-of-the blue. No signs of gas leak or any other explosion mechanism. According to neighbour testimonies "The building was just found demolished in the morning." At this point it is still unknown if the family that lived here was still inside the building when it collapsed. The Fire Department is still searching through the debris for any signs of life. Stay tuned at WHDH news, for more information about this case. -**_

Harry picked up the t.v. controller and lowered the sound. The news the past few days were riddled with strange demolitions and small earthquakes that happened around the Boston area.

It was a rather quiet Saturday morning, considering the whole ordeal with Mrs. Figg's death last night. Harry's wife insisted that they should move to a safer neighbourhood, for their child, Harry on the other hand insisted on staying put. Since the old lady's death was declared officially a suicide he saw no reason of such a rash act. Their discussion quickly escalated to a heated argument, and Harry found himself sleeping at the couch.

Harry found their arguments had increased the past few days, he blamed his wife's irrational thinking. He was very annoyed by her little disturbances while he was at the house. He just wanted to be left alone and read his book, yet his wife wouldn't have it. She would interrupt him at any given chance, often by snatching the book of his hands and throwing it away. Something that extremely infuriated Harry. He would clench his fists and count to ten to calm his nerves, to keep himself from venting out on her.

Sighing heavily, he snuggled deeper into the couch and closed his eyes.

 _He found himself on his knees clutching his throbbing head tightly. Images flashed through his mind. When the pain subsided, and opened his eyes he found himself on a graveyard. The blonde boy beside him was already on his feet, wand out, checking frantically his surroundings._

" _Lose the other," came his voice, and the blonde boy flew to the air, landing with a thud a few feet away. Mouth agape, and eyes glazed._

" _Quick, Wormtail...proceed with the ritual." Came his voice again._

 _The liquid on the cauldron swelled and swirled, taking various colours and textures with each ingredient placed. "We are missing a hand, Wormtail." The tone of command evident in his voice._

 _As the final ingredient fell inside the cauldron the liquid, the potion turned blinding white. The man named Wormtail muttered an incomprehensible incantation and liquid shot out bright sparks simmering, before it died out and a thick white steam arose, along with a figure._

"Harry wake up!" Harry jumped in an upright position, violently awoken from his dream. He rubbed the back of his head.

"What is it?" He croaked, his throat felt sore.

"It's almost noon and you are still sleeping. Your son's soccer game is in an hour, we should get ready. I already dropped him at the…"

"I'm not coming," Harry cut-off his wife.

"What?!" Anger was evident in her voice.

"I said I'm not coming. I'm tired and I want to stay home."

"To read that god forsaken book…"

"What?" He asked.

"I am finishing the sentence you don't have the balls to finish."

Harry glared at her and rose from the couch, making his way to the kitchen. "You are absurd. I am just tired."

"No, this isn't you. You never miss your son's games…" She said while moving over to the coffee table. She picked up the book. "...since this piece of garbage came into our home, you...you...I'm throwing it away."

"DON'T YOU DARE!" Harry bellowed, his eyes were burning with anger. Fists clenched tightly, making his knuckles turn white.

His wife dropped dead at her feet and turned to look at him. "If anything happens to the book, I swear…"

"You swear what?" His wife challenged and opened the book in the middle, holding between her hands ready to rip it in two.

The book flew away from her hands, as Harry darted across the room, grabbing her by the neck and pinning her to the wall. "You dare to challenge me, woman?" he threatened, anger swirling in his eyes.

"Harry...please…" She begged, her voice sounded strained.

Harry blinked a few times, his eyes turning normal. He glanced at his hand tightly snaked around his wife's neck and withdrew it immediately as if it burned.

' _Slap'_ His wife's right palm connected with his cheek with a force that startled him and made him stumble two steps back. He cupped his cheek, and felt the skin burn.

"Listen to me, Potter, and listen good. Either the book stays or me, and I need a fucking answer right now."

Harry lowered his head and dropped his arms in defeat. He felt embarrassed, and broken. He raised his glance to meet his wife's eyes and slowly took two steps closer to her.

"I'm sorry, "he almost sighed, and leaned…

...to pick the book from the floor.


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER 6**

A few had days passed since Harry's wife left the house, taking several of her and their son's things. He tried calling her repeatedly, as soon as she left, but to no avail. She wasn't picking up. Harry couldn't blame her, what he had done was unspeakable. He never imagined that there would be a day he would hurt his wife. Yet, it has been, and it was all for a book. A book that Harry couldn't get rid of. He wasn't willing to. The book plagued his mind, the hours he was awake, even the hours he was asleep.

He felt a strange connection with it. Truth be told, Harry didn't understand everything that was written on the book. Some phrases were too cryptic, others appeared to bear a double meaning. Nevertheless, he couldn't shake the feeling that everything written in that book had happened for real, at some point. He felt the book held a mystery, a mystery that whoever found it, had to unravel it. So, he only had to keep reading. Keep reading and everything with eventually, click.

After his wife departure, Harry spent his days inside their house. Being dismissed from work, for a week, for inappropriate behaviour also gave him no excuse to leave his premises. He just stayed in, slept on the couch, ordered food and read his book.

 _'Everything proceeded according to plan. The confrontation with the Bishop, at the Ministry, didn't leave anything for misinterpretation. Lord Voldemort was back, that much was clear. The recruitment of Draco Malfoy as a Knight would surely put pressure for further action. Now it was the enemy's court move._

 _Changing the world is never an easy feat. Freeing the oppressed and restoring balance, requires heavy, careful planning, and a great deal of patience. Not to mention that at some point you should be ready to willingly accept death, for the cause._

 _...the death of Albus Dumbledore shocked the Wizarding World. The Bishop was finally dead, and the King supported merely by his pawns was up for the taking. But the game was not over yet. Even at this point the game could easily end in a draw. More time, more patience, more planning was required. Clearly there was still valuable information to be gained before taking the final step. Albus Dumbledore's elaborated plan needed to play out. Even in his death the Bishop will pull the strings and guide the actions. One only needs to wait and, check, check, check. '_

Harry's stomach grumbled and he stopped reading. He stood up and walked over to the kitchen counter, he took a slice of pizza, leftovers from yesterday and ate it slowly. The silence inside the house was deafening. He didn't know if it was day or night outside, he had lowered the drapes. He glanced at the clock above the fridge. It read 11 a.m., so it was morning.

He ate the remaining pizza and took the box by the sink. He glanced around the house, it was a mess. Carbon boxes, and beer bottles littered the kitchen, and the living room. A smell of stale air and sweat lingered in the area. He made himself a cup of coffee, he threw away the stained utensil and moved over to the couch again, opening the tv.

The news had been reporting various bizarre occurrences the past few days, in north America. Mysterious destructions of properties, slight tremors in the ground, too small to be considered earthquakes and seemed to be centred in specific spots, unexpected blackouts and so on.

 _ **\- Another strange incident came to shock the inhabitants of Manhattan as a building that stood for almost a hundred years in Pike Street, collapsed last night under unexplained circumstances. Property's owner, Purity Barebone, was confirmed dead. Purity Barebone was the CEO of… -**_

At the sound of the name Harry's ears perked up, he glanced at the tv, the reporter's words faded into the background, as Harry fixated his eyes on the picture and name of Purity Barebone. That name he had heard it before, or had he seen it. Quickly he picked up his book, and browsed through the pages. There! His index finger trailed along the sentence…

 _`...Barebone had managed to survive. He seemed able to tame that power, maybe not fully control it. But it was possible. `_

Harry snapped the book shut. He stood from the couch and rushed upstairs to the bedroom he and his wife used to share, not too long ago. He opened the wardrobe and rummaged through the top selves to find a backpack. He stuffed a couple of jeans and some shirts inside it. He quickly changed into fresh clothes. He went downstairs, picked up the book and stuffed it inside his backpack as well. He put on his shoes, picked up his jacket and car keys and left the house.

It would be a bit less than a three-hours, drive to New York. Excitement built up inside Harry. For the first time, since the book came to his possession, he had found some real lead. Something that could connect everything written in that peculiar book with the real word. Someone that could maybe explain to him the true meaning of the book. If his wife was here, she would probably argue that the name can just be a coincidence. But Harry was convinced it was not. His gut was telling him, this was a clue. So, he drove.

It had been quite a few years since Harry had last visited New York. He had forgotten how busy and noisy the streets were. As he entered Manhattan, he was mostly stuck in traffic. To his benefit, the hours spent behind the wheel waiting for the convoy of cars to start moving again gave him the opportunity to plan his actions. He was so excited with his findings when he left the house, that he didn't pause to think what he would do once he reached New York.

As he found himself stuck in front of another traffic light, he picked up his phone and googled Purity Barebone. _"Purity Mary Barebone (March 1964 - December 2017) was an American entrepreneur, businesswoman, and philanthropist. Barebone was the owner and the chief executive officer (CEO) of VigilanS Inc. a premium manufacturer of IP-based video conferencing, surveillance and analytics technology…" "...Barebone's philanthropist work was widely known through the New Salem Philanthropic Society. The organisation, founded in the early 20th century, was hosted in a building on Pike Street and was used as a housing and school for orphan children in New York until 1926. When Barebone inherited the building, she renovated the structure and used it as Sunday school for the orphans…"_

A horn beeping startled Harry, and he almost dropped his phone. He started his car, destination Pike Street.

As he drove down Pike St. Harry immediately understood what building, or former building he was looking for. Roadblocks were set up, preventing anyone from driving further. People gathered around the barriers taking pictures, tv vans were parked along the road, filming and reporting the situation as the fire police still rummaged through the rumbles. Harry parked his car in an alley, he took his backpack and exited his vehicle. He made his way through the crowd, trying to find a better and closer view of the demolished building.

As he parted the last of the people in the front line and his eyes connected with the building, he felt a piercing pain in his head. His raised his hand and palmed his forehead. The ache was excruciating. He felt his knees giving out and his surroundings blurred. He faintly saw people gasp and step away from him as he felt himself fall and darkness engulfing him.


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER 7**

 _He was kneeling at the end of a long, dimly lit chamber. Behind him, towering stone pillars entwined with serpents rose to a ceiling lost in darkness, casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom that filled the place. The battered, sightless corpse of the enormous basilisk lay lifeless to his left. The girl set to his right, motionless, as the last of her living essence slowly faded away._

 _The ghostly image of a young man appeared to materialise as the girl's life essence wasted away._

" _Tom Marvolo Riddle…" said the ghostly young man and the letters forming his name etched in the air. With a flick of the young man's fingers, the letters rearranged to -I am Lord Voldemort"._

 _Without knowing what else to do, he raised the basilisk's fang and plunged it deep inside the diary as if it was a living organism. Black ink flooded the pages, and he glanced at the ghostly young man. He watched him extend his hands, a wide smile crept on his face. "Finally, …" the ghost of the young man muttered and the black ink trickling down from the book simmered and swirled, exploding in a writhing mass of darkness…_

Harry screamed at the top of his lungs, his heart hammered in his chest. He opened his eyes but he couldn't see, he tried to speak but no sound seemed to escape his lips. The faint sound of chanting reached his ears, but it felt so distant. Thud. His heart thumped in his chest again, another scream escaped him but his lips didn't move. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and he again was cast into oblivion.

" _Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never been wavered, and you, unfortunately, do not fulfil either requirement."_

…

…" _Magic, especially Dark Magic, leaves traces. If am I to uphold this persona to the best of my ability I cannot perform the ritual. The die is cast on you, Wormtail, to go through with it. Failure is forbidden. This will be your one and only chance to prove your loyalty and competence."_

...

 _As Diggory's body hit the ground, he stood up and dusted his clothes. "Finally!" he exclaimed and extended his arms, letting the cool, night breeze wash over his face._

 _He neared his servant and extended his arm over the cauldron. The man named Wormtail unsheathed a silver, rune dagger with a skull-shaped hilt. With trembling hands, he approached and touched his master's skin with the long, thin blade. Blood poured into the cauldron. The already bubbling liquid swirled and heaved as if it savoured this new edition to its substance… As the final ingredient fell inside the cauldron, the liquid turned blinding white. The man named Wormtail muttered an incomprehensible incantation and the liquid shot out bright sparks. It simmered, before it died out and a thick white steam arose, along with a figure. As the steam dissipated and pooled to the ground forming a mist, the figure's full image came to view. The facial features resembled that of a snake, the eyes empty and pitch-black. It stood lifeless, limp, with stitches and patches of different flesh decorating its torso._

 _"My lord..." the servant Wormtail said, and with a flick of his wand the mist closed around the lifeless figure materialising into flowing dark robes, "the vessel is yours to command"_

 _"Excellent work, Wormtail. For this you will be rewarded. Give me your hand." With a swift, fluid movement of his want a silvery-hand appeared, replacing Wormtail's maimed limb._ _"Now, give me the other. The rest need to be notified of my return."_

Harry's body shuddered. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, showing white. Foam drooled of his mouth, like a rabid dog. His body writhed and convulsed as he floated mid-air, with arms extended and legs limp, like a crucifix. The voices kept chanting.

 _"My lord are you sure this is going to work? The prophecy..."_

 _He raised his hand, silencing her. "Prophecies are tricky, my Bella. They always have more than one definition. Besides we have come too far to stop now, we have planned and played carefully. If there is a risk, it is one I am willing to take. In the meantime, while I still share my consciousness with Potter's, I trust the vessel's control to you."_

 _"Won't the boy suspect?" She asked._

 _"Hogwarts' magic is too strong, so are the protective wards Dumbledore placed at his filthy muggle family house. The boy remains oblivious."_

 _"But the images he sees..." She tried to counter._

 _"Images only I let him see. When he falls asleep, I take over." She smiled wickedly and gave her Lord a small bow. "For the meantime Bellatrix, control the vessel. Snape can never find out the truth. My true visage will remain secret to the ones truly loyal to me, the ones that came during the end of the Triwizard Tournament and you my dear Bella."_

Harry shot his eyes open. A bright light blinded him as images and memories of two lives flooded his brain. His body writhed and convulsed again. He tried to speak, but only a gargling noise left his lips.

 _"Dumbledore is the only obstacle we face. If he goes the boy will be defenceless. For our benefit, the old man is already set on the path we led him. Searching hopelessly for the horcruxes. But we need to escalate the game."_

 _"How my Lord?" Bellatrix said._

 _"With Draco. Have him take the mark, and task him to kill Dumbledore."_

 _"But...my Lord, Narcissa will never allow this..."_

 _"I am counting on it, Bellatrix. I am counting on her to convince Snape to protect her son. At all costs."_

 _"My Lord..."_

 _"Tell her the truth only after she managed to coax Snape's Vow. Leave Lucius out of it. Lately I am starting to believe I have asked the wrong member of that family to join my ranks."_

Harry's head throbbed, his eyes bulged through his skull. The runes underneath his floating body ignited into blue flames. The flames danced and morphed taking various images and faces. The voices kept chanting as the barriers of his brain demolished, like a dam breaking from the sheer force of an unhinged river, wiping away all the false memories of a life he believed to be true. He remembered. He remembered he was not the 37-year-old History school teacher in Massachusetts. This life was all a sham. He was the boy who lived. The boy responsible for the fall of the Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort.

The boy who was tasked again, from a very young age, to prepare himself for the Dark Lord's return. That oblivious boy who fell for the Dark Lord's trap to destroy the diary, thus becoming his puppet. He remembered, the ghost of young Tom Riddle laughing in his face as the black ink from the diary morphed into a writhing mass of darkness taking a life of its own and merging with his body.

As the bluish flames rose and reaped, he remembered his last year with Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley. How they searched for the remaining horcruxes, following Dumbledore's breadcrumbs. He remembered being captured by the snatchers, and was taken hostage in Malfoy Manor. He remembered how he stood in front of Bellatrix, Narcissa and Draco, explaining to them his elaborate plan.

He remembered the battle of Hogwarts. How he appeared in front of the army of Death Eaters and snatchers, their gasps and their shocked faces, when the whole truth was revealed.

Suddenly, the chanting ceased and the runes exploded. The blue flames enveloped Harry's body. He screamed at the top of his lungs, as the flames liked his skin and marred his flesh. He screamed until his heart gave out, and silence fell.

 _ **Tick. Tick.**_

His body quaked and within him a violent torrent of darkness with a reddish-core escaped. His body slowly floated to the ground. As the dark vortex, whirled and morphed, covering his frame like a cloak, he remembered everything…

Lord Voldemort has _ **finally**_ returned.


End file.
